Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [72]
The sun was beginning to set in the west, slanting rays gilding the Aviline River, when at last we found our quarry. It was in the fourth tavern or fifth tavern we tried along the docks; a fusty little place with rough-hewn walls streaked with the soot of decades’ worth of candle and lamp-smoke.
“Him?” The innkeeper nodded at Balthasar’s inquiry, jerking his thumb toward the back of the room. “Oh, aye. I reckon that’s who you’re after.”
Denis de Toluard was a wreck.
When I’d first met him, I’d reckoned him a pretty enough fellow with a handsome face, brown curls, and bright blue eyes. Now his face was haggard and lined beyond his years, his hair was greasy and matted, and his bleary, red-rimmed eyes could barely focus on us as we approached him where he slumped over a table, surrounded by half a dozen drunken sailors.
“Balthasar?” he slurred.
Balthasar Shahrizai folded his arms over the chest of his elegant velvet doublet. “Time to go home, Denis.”
“Nuh-uh. Nuh-uh.” He wrapped his hands protectively around a leather tankard, giving me a blurry look. “Moirin?”
“Hello, Denis,” I said softly. I had lingering cause to be angry with him, but I couldn’t be cruel. Not here, not now. “Balthasar is right. It’s time to go home.”
“No!” His hands tightened, denting the leather tankard. “I don’ wanna!”
“You’re coming with us,” Balthasar said mildly, exchanging a glance with Bao. “Willing or no.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere with you. You didn’ even have the ballocks to come with us. These are my friends, my only real friends.” Denis de Toluard gestured around him with drunken dignity. “Sailed with ’em to Terra Nova and alla way back. Damn bloody Nahuatl, damn bloody place. Thierry, Raphael, alla them… Gone, all gone. And we did nothing. Nothing, I tell you! Don’ know what we could, but we didn’t.” He rubbed at his eyes. “They unnerstand, they do. So lemme be.”
One of the sailors rose unsteadily, looming over the table. “You heard ’is lordship. Let ’im be.”
“Sit down.” Bao tapped him smartly in the center of his chest with the butt end of his staff. The sailor fell back into his chair and looked surprised. Others rose with menacing intentions. Bao grinned and twirled his staff until it was a blur, making the air sing. “It’s been too long since I had a good fight,” he said cheerfully. “Go ahead.”
Two of them lunged at him at once. Bao’s staff whipped left and right, and both sailors fell back, clutching their heads and groaning. He jabbed a third in the belly, and the fellow doubled over with a grunt of pain.
“Bao, wait.” I tugged on his black-and-white magpie coat. “My lord Denis, listen. We need to talk to you. I have reason to believe Thierry is alive.”
Denis de Toluard stared at me with bleary eyes.
“Raphael, too,” I added.
He held up one hand to forestall the sailors, who were all too glad to comply, then leaned over and vomited a copious quantity of ale onto the tavern floor.
“Oh, gods!” Balthasar Shahrizai exclaimed in disgust. Bao leaned on his staff without comment.
“Do you mean to torture me, Moirin?” Denis lurched upright in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. At least he sounded marginally less incoherent after having spewed the contents of his belly. “Is that it? Is this repayment for the way the Circle of Shalomon used you?” His mouth twisted bitterly. “A trick, like the tricks the spirits we summoned taught you to play? That would be a fine jest.”
“No.” I stooped beside his chair, taking care to keep my skirts out of the puddle of vomit, and looked him in the eyes. “I swear to you by